The Bluest of Blood, The Highest of Costs
by GreenScholar9
Summary: We all know that Elrond was at the Battle of the Last Alliance, fighting under High King Gil-Galad. Thranduil's father King Oropher was there too, and so likely was Thranduil himself as a young prince. What happens when the infamous pride of the royal house of Mirkwood runs wild on the field of battle?


"DAMN THAT OROPHER!"

Both rage and horror whirled like twin hurricanes behind High King Gil-Galad's eyes as he watched the Lord of the Greenwood lead his troops in an early charge across the battlefield. Beside him, the human King Elendil could only join in his helplessness. The Battle of the Last Alliance was supposed to be a united effort, a last stand in which all men and elves came under the command of one banner. Which meant that King Oropher was to have submitted himself and his warriors to the leadership of Gil-Galad! Clearly though, the half-wild Sindarin king of that even wilder forest had no such intentions of following another king. The two armies of good and evil had only moments ago stood poised at the slopes of Mt. Doom, neither quite ready to begin their charge. The clear ringing of the horn of the Mirkwood elves had shattered that 'breath before the plunge' though, and the faction of them was racing away from the main army, head-on into battle...without the rest of Gil-Galad and Elendil's troops!

"My lord! Will you give us the order to attack?!" The question came from Gil-Galad's right, and he looked to his standard bearer. Elrond was still young by elvish-standards, but an upbringing under the sons of Feanor had given him a keen mind for battle. His wide brown eyes clearly mirrored his own shock at the early charge.

"What choice do we have?" Unsheathing his sword, Gil-Galad shouted to their archers. "Hado!" (Shoot!). They would have to take their opportunity now, before that fool Oropher and his elves got too close to the enemy and blocked the shot. "For the free peoples!" He cried, and Elendil echoed his call in the Westron tongue to the army of men at their side. Rushing down from the barren bluff on which they stood, they were still well behind even the slowest of the eager Silvan/Sindarin army from the north. Having kept to themselves since time immeasured in the forest, the Silvan members of that force were clearly eager to test themselves in battle. As for the Sindarin minority, which Oropher himself had brought to the Greenwood...they should have known better! Gil-Galad could curse the silver-haired king all he wanted though; it wouldn't save his brash neck.

Sure enough, the armies of Mordor were eager for blood, and the two forces met like a thunder-clap before Gil-Galad, Elendil and the rest of the army could catch them. By the time they reached the same ground, it was already wet with blood, both red and black. The fighting was vicious, and you of course all know how it was that Sauron himself strode into battle only to lose the One Ring at the hand of Isildur, son of Elendil. It was Elrond that led him up into the heart of Mt. Doom, only to have to watch in dismay as the human man refused the chance to destroy evil. With no choice but to return unsuccessful to the battlefield, Elrond instead forced his mind away from the Ring, and to the wounded.

The losses for both sides were grevious indeed; orcs, elves and men alike littered the battlefield like broken dolls. The army of Mirkwood had taken the heaviest losses, paying a steep price for their brash charge. It came as almost no surprise when the body of King Oropher was found, hewn by cruel orc blades. He was as proud in death as he was in life though; his long sword so tightly clutched in his hand that no one could remove it from him. The surprise in all this grief came however with a discovery from Elrond; the son of Oropher yet lived. Prince Thranduil, now King Thranduil, lay crumpled not far from his father's body, having taken many injuries himself.

Moving quickly but with care, Elrond turned Thranduil over, assessing his many wounds. "Not now, Hir-Thranduil...now is not your time." He murmured, already reaching for the gift of healing which lay within him. Having learned only just a short while ago of the loss of High King Gil-Galad in the battle as well, he did not believe that his heart could bear even one more loss this day. Thus it came as an enormous relief to him when, at last, Thranduil stirred beneath his touch. "I need gauze, and athelas!" Elrond shouted, and mercifully other elves came to aid him.

And so it came to pass that, even as King Thranduil's heart grew darker and more distrustful of the world beyond the forest in centuries to come, he always thought kindly of the Lord of Imladris. They had both fought and bled on the same field, and understood well the high cost of peace.


End file.
